The best sex I ever had was break up sex.
Technically, we had been broken up for three weeks. But he lived in London and begged me to wait until he got a break in his schedule and could come to New York so that we could do it face to face and not over Skype (the way I had originally planned). I agreed. I figured I owed him that much, and also myself for that matter. We had been together for three years and I was still wearing the ring he gave me—the ring he made me actually, with his own two hands.
And so I waited until he got vacation time and could afford to come over. I didn’t sleep with anyone else during this time because, though we were broken up, I still wanted one last goodbye with him, and I didn’t want him to have to wear a condom. I thought it would be horrible to have to explain to him in the heat of the moment that we should use a condom because I was already having rebound sex. Instead I took the ring off my finger and just flirted up a storm with everyone who wore pants. And I developed a mild obsession with a video artist who had gone to Bard and wore cool sneakers.
My ex flew in on Halloween and wanted to spend the night together. That request was taking things too far for me. I was 25 then and Halloween felt like Spring Break for New Yorkers. Hell, it’s basically Christmas for American Apparel, and since there’s nothing I love more seeing drunk people in unitards, it was also like Christmas for me. Thus, I did not want to spend my first single Halloween in years having a heart-to-heart with my ex. Not at all. Instead, I wanted to spend it getting finger banged by Bard Boy.
However, Bard Boy did not make things easy for me that Halloween night. In fact, he admitted to me halfway through our rooftop party that he was in love with my best friend, and followed that confession up by saying, “Doesn’t she look amazing dressed as a sexy Jesus?” I looked down at my bunch-of-grapes costume. Previously I thought my costume was very clever but now I realized it was the definition of dumpy. I ran into the bathroom and systematically popped all my balloons with a safety pin I found hidden in the back of the medicine cabinet. Finally, I was in nothing but a body stocking with a bunch of deflated balloons stuck to me. That would show them who was sexy! I was too late though. When I came back to the party Bard Boy and my best friend had already left together.
The next day my ex showed up at my house with a dozen roses. “Who does that?” I thought with disgust. Clearly, I was still in a terrible mood from being rejected the night before.
Still, I invited him in and made him a cup of tea.
“Thanks. This is great,” he said.
“Do you have any paracetamol?”
“You mean Tylenol.”
“Yeah, right. I forgot what it was called over here.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I hurt my neck.”
“Wrestling with Andy.”
This is the thing about knowing someone really well—too well, I would say. They can stop you dead in your tracks with how obvious their lies are.
“You didn’t do that by wrestling with Andy! I mean, what is that even? You got it by fucking some girl.”
A small, sheepish grin spread across his face.
And that’s when I really lost it.